Monty slowly peeled the hide from the Krotte's chest. Stretching between eighty to one hundred and twenty centimeters, its girth was around thirty centimeters. Its snout protruded forward.0

The Krotte were known for their long, slenderness and front claws, perfect for burrowing deep into the earth. Yet, connoisseurs coveted them for other reasons. That faintly tufted softness. That unmatched insulation against the cold. That lingering, subtle sheen that never dulled.1

To strip the prized chest hide intact, one had to start at the belly and give the skin room. Already slit at elbows, crown, and ankles, the hide came away like clothing designed to be removed. Beside him lay a heap of grisly remnants, meat stripped bare, piled into one grotesque mass. Even the most hardened would shake their heads at such a sight.0

However, Monty's focus never wavered. He slid his blade between flesh and bone, hand working with delicate precision, shaving away as though peeling fruit. The knife moved to the creature's forelimbs....0